Intertwined
by RayShippouUchiha
Summary: Or "The five times Spock acknowledged and reacted to the connection between him and a stranger and the one time he completely rejected it."  Companion piece to "Bedtime Stories"


AN: First of all I have this to say:

**IF YOU HAVE NOT READ BEDTIME STORIES I HIGHLY SUGGEST YOU DO SO BEFORE GOING ANY FURTHER.**

This is the requested one-shot from Spock's point-of-view about the connection between him and Jim. This will span from the time the connection first appears to the moment the link between the two is shut down. Also please keep in mind that Spock is three, that is **3**, years older than Jim. I really do hope you enjoy this and I hope to hear from you all on the review boards and after the next chapter of Bedtime Stories.

Disclaimer: If only…if only….

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><p>Intertwined<p>

Or

The five times Spock acknowledged and reacted to the connection between him and a stranger and the one time he completely rejected it.

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><p><strong>One: Connection<strong>

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><p>Spock is approximately nine years of age the first time it happens.<p>

He is standing outside his learning pod, carefully examining his progress for the day when they approach him. Two older Vulcan youths, led as always by Ston. For a moment he does nothing, simply stiffens his spine even further, determined to present to them the very picture of Vulcan calm.

At first he succeeds, at first he is calm as he reminds them of their past attempts and subsequent failures to elicit an emotional response from him.

Something changes though in less than a second as suddenly he can feel things he has never felt before, emotions that as a Vulcan he has always refused to allow himself to feel. It bubbles up inside his chest, chokes him as it rushes up his throat and explodes inside his brain.

There is sadness there, _a bone crushing sorrow that eats away at his very being_, and twined through it is a yearning type of hope.

It is gone in the next instance, replaced with the dull throb of a pain that has long ago become familiar and yet is new and almost startling at the same time. Spock is not sure how he knows these things, is not even sure where these emotions are coming from, but he knows that they are real. He knows that for some reason there is an almost coppery taste in the back of his throat that does not belong to him.

He does not have time to consider the situation fully because in that next second he can feel an icy cold rage beginning to creep over his senses. There is so much hatred mixed with denial there, such force behind the emotions that he is momentarily stunned. In that second he hears Ston call his mother a whore and Spock is helpless against the force of that rage.

It explodes out of him and if he was less of a Vulcan and more of a human he would have been frightened. In an instance Ston is on the floor and Spock is striking him over and over again. He can feel his face twisting itself into an unfamiliar expression of grief and rage.

It is not until later; after his father has crushed any hopes he might have had about his parent's relationship, that he truly has the time to fully devote his mind to the topic.

The fact that he had been emotionally compromised was not what truly bothered him, though it was an unacceptable event. It was instead the fact that the emotions that had broken so effortlessly through his shields had seemed almost two-fold. It was as if there had been an emotional echo within him, as if he were actually two people instead of one.

It warranted further investigation.

So in the quiet of his quarters he folds himself smoothly into the required meditation pose and sets about the task of ordering his thoughts and strengthening his shields.

It is while he is traversing his mind-space that he finds it, a thin, almost feeble crimson thread that extends from the core of his being and out into the vastness of space. It is so small and fragile that Spock can not help but to think that with a single tug he would be able to destroy it in its entirety.

Unable to help himself Spock reached out and touched upon it, the pressure he placed on it equivalent to that of a light breeze. The connection is immediate. Impressions of another place rushed upon him in that moment and once again he felt as if he were two people, existing in the same time but in different places.

There was Spock, his true self, the form he had been born into, and there was The Other. Fascinated he delved deeper, pushing his essence further across the thread. He found that he could not go very far, that the bond was not strong enough for that. It contained just enough strength for Spock to feel that The Other was a being filled with sorrow and pain whose very presence seemed to call out to him.

The sadness he felt within it, its barely restrained rage, was a thriving thing and Spock knew that the happenings from earlier were only the beginning. In order for him to maintain his control he could not allow outbursts such as these to become common place. Desperate, or as desperate as a Vulcan could be, he tried to impress that upon The Other but he did not know if he was successful.

Withdrawing from his mind Spock blinked in the low light of his quarters. He knew that he should report his findings to his father, should not hold such a thing in secrecy. Yet his very being seemed to rebel at the thought of telling another of his discoveries. The Other was something that he would hold close to him, something that he would keep to himself.

After all everything else about him was open to discussion and ridicule and for once Spock wanted to have something that he could call his own completely.

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><p><strong>Two: Reaction<strong>

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><p>It is a little over a year before Spock gets another startlingly clear reading from The Other. That is not to say that Spock had not been in contact with The Other in that time, for he had. He had learned to push himself across the link between them slowly but surely, going further and further after each attempt.<p>

He had watched, fascinated and almost breathless, as the thread inside his mind thickened and strengthened as he poured his attention into it.

He had begun to whisper to The Other about different things, about his day and his studies. About things that he would never admit out loud to another being as it would make him less Vulcan to admit to such emotions and turmoil. He even allowed himself to whisper the strands of Vulcan poetry that he favored to The Other.

He is in his quarters when it hits him and in his surprise he can not stop the low almost keening whine that escapes his lips though he does cut it off quickly.

It is a sharp piercing pain, similar to the pain from the first contact but harder, more brutal and it is mixed with an anguish that is breathtaking. _In a macabre way it is almost beautiful. _He feels as if he is being pummeled, as if heavy fists are raining down on him but he is alone and physically unharmed.

Not able to stop himself Spock sunk to his knees, curled his arms around himself and began to rock on the floor. Reaching into his mind he grasped the thread, that now thick crimson string, and pulled. Working quickly, desperately, he found were it connected to his being and willed it to move, willed it to alter. He set his attention on forcing the piece that connected to his physical body to dull.

Slowly it began to work, the physical connection beginning to dull and the mental one absorbing the excess strength.

Finally when he could no longer feel the phantoms blows raining down upon his body he uses the new altered bond to send a single repetitive thought across the thread.

"_Nam-tor karik." _He tells The Other, sending waves of serenity across the now pale red thread.

He stays that way for hours, until the Vulcan sky grew dark and the stars shone brightly overhead. His mind latched firmly onto that pale red thread, constantly repeating that single phrase, urging The Other to find strength within.

He still is not truly sure about what has happened to him but he is loath to speak of it to anyone. Even with the pain, even with the severe affect The Other had on his shields he coveted the connection itself.

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><p><strong>Three: Obsession<strong>

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><p>Spock would have, if not for the fact that he was Vulcan and thus incapable, called himself obsessed.<p>

The Other was beginning to overtake him. It consumed his waking and non-waking thoughts, his very being. Instead of speaking to it of abstract thoughts and his daily lessons, or even obscure Vulcan poetry he now addressed it directly.

He whispered to it during his lessons, half of his mind concentrated on his studies and the other half on The Other. He knew he was distracted but since he was in no danger of his studies suffering he did not see the problem with it. At night when he meditated or lay still on his bed he practically crooned to it.

He pleaded with it, practically begged it to be smart and strong even if he was unsure about whether or not it was capable of such a thing. He was divided on the situation, one half of him almost believing that it was some figment of his mind, created by his unstable blood. The other half embraced it, believed in it, wanted it to be closer, begged him to un-dull the physical connection that he had muted before.

_Something deep within him, in some place that even he with all of his genius was unable to fully understand, a word was whispered to him that he was unfamiliar with._

He refused to give into that side, refused to un-dull the thread and open himself up to the distraction of the physical pain he knew The Other still endured.

It was that side though that prompted him to swear a promise, to make an oath of finding.

"_Dungau-sarlah nash-ven." _He tells it softly.

It is his vow that one day he would come for The Other, that they would be apart no longer.

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><p><strong>Four: Desperation<strong>

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><p>The sheer terror and rage, <em>truthfully that rage seemed to be ever present lurking beneath the surface, buried but never truly gone<em> woke Spock from a dead sleep, taking him completely off guard. It was rare for him to feel things at such a level from The Other. Indeed it had been over a year since the last outburst and even then the strength of the emotions was no where near the level they had reached now.

Below the surface feelings he can detect other, more complex emotions playing through The Other. That same sorrow from the first contact is back _it is still bone crushing, still able to eat away at his being_ twined this time with disgust.

He can feel his own heartbeat changing, knows somehow that it is attempting to synchronize itself with The Other's. He can taste the cold terror in his throat, the barely suppressed tears.

He does not know what is going on, does not understand what has happened but he knows that it is horrific.

Then it changes, in that split second way that Spock has become familiar with, the one that suggests to him that time means nothing when it comes to him and The Other.

Peace filters through the thread, a type of peace that Spock knows The Other has never felt. It is calm and fluid and terrible _Spock does not associate The Other with peace, with anger, rage, pain, and obsession yes, but never with peace, to feel it now almost sickens him._

It hits him like a Vulcan wind storm, like lightening and ice, burning him and freezing him at the same time.

That peace, that terrible, wonderful peace The Other is feeling is death.

He knows it, can feel it in the depths of his soul. The thread that connects them seems to reverberate in agreement.

The Other intends to die.

Spock can not allow this.

He slams all of his strength into the bond, rips down the shield that he had erected so long ago and screams at The Other with everything he had in him.

"_Rish-tor!"_

He knows that The Other hears him, can actually feel the shock that tears The Other in two as his words race across the thread between them.

He feels the moment The Other pulls back from death and re-embraces life and survival.

The sheer joy Spock feels in that moment _the joy is his own, he knows it is because it is not doubled, does not echo within him_ startles him. It is un-Vulcan to feel as such, to feel in any way is not logical.

It hits him then just how unnatural this connection is, just how much he has compromised the ideals of his people by nurturing this thing.

He wants it, wishes to keep it and indeed have more of it, but for the first time he truly admits to himself that perhaps it is not wise to do so.

Perhaps severing the connection between him and The Other would be for the best.

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><p><strong>Five: Retraction<strong>

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><p>Spock is fourteen now and he is a true Vulcan.<p>

He has mastered his emotions, has ordered his mind to perfection and has stifled all distractions from his studies.

He has even completely dulled the thread to The Other.

It had taken him time and effort to do so, more than he wanted to admit to himself.

He had become addicted to The Other over the years and had been forced to wean himself off gradually. It had taken him the better part of two years to accomplish his goal but he had done it none the less.

He is able now to resist the urge to make contact with The Other, although he does find it almost difficult at times to keep his distance.

That half of himself that had prompted him to vow their meeting years before railed at him constantly until he had learned to lock it in the back of his mind as well.

The thread is still there, he can still see it in his mind. It is a pale, ghostly wisp of a thing now, no longer the vibrant crimson or beautiful pale red of before.

His neglect of it, the shields that he has built around it have weakened it, caused it to become listless and even more fragile than it had been in the beginning.

As always that same half of him longed to feed it again, to nurture it until it once again glowed strong and as rich as it once had.

He resisted as he always did now, because he is Vulcan and there can be no weakness.

The Other is his ultimate flaw no matter what that unknowable and untamable half of him screeches in the depths of his mind.

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><p><strong>+One: Rejection<strong>

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><p>Two years have passed and Spock is sixteen now and it is both easy and difficult to ignore the thread that still haunts the depths of his mind.<p>

He has not slipped in his diligent task of not succumbing to the lure of The Other. Indeed he has been rather strong about the situation, steadfast in his decision.

Thus it is a surprise to him when suddenly he feels the connection flare to life, feels the pale and ghostly thread burst back into full color, the crimson blindingly beautiful.

The Other is the same as it had been in the past and yet different. There is a sense of grim determination that is familiar and yet it is more real somehow, more apparent than ever before. The helplessness is familiar as well but it is soul deep this time, a gnawing biting thing that for just a moment makes Spock despair as well.

The rage is what truly unsettles him though.

It had always been there, always just beneath the surface, and yet now it was out in full force, a thunderous, murderous thing that longed for blood and destruction. It was a rage that told Spock that The Other had killed before.

Unable to take that rage, unable to come to terms with it or to continue feeling it, Spock did what he had been denying himself for years now.

Delving deep inside his mind he saw the thread once again, the crimson color still blinding, still beautiful. Quickly he grasped it firmly and forced his voice across it and onto The Other in an effort to calm that all consuming rage.

"_Nam-tor hayal."_

There is a moment of silence on the other end of the thread, Spock can tell he has shocked The Other, before there is a whirlwind of activity.

There is hope and joy the likes of which Spock had never felt from The Other, before something happens that shocks him to his core.

That crimson thread glows brightly gold for a moment and for the first time Spock hears another voice vibrate across the space of his mind.

"_You're here, you're back, please stay, don't go, need you, want you here, don't go."_

The Other had never answered him before, had never verbally responded to him. That wild, unknowable half of his roars in joy and in that moment Spock panics.

Reaching out with all the strength in his being he grasp the thread and with all of his might he pushed that half of himself across the thread and threw up every shield that he possible could. Slamming his most powerful barriers into place, locking them as surely as one would lock a door he was rewarded with an almost all encompassing silence.

It was unlike any silence he had ever experienced before.

The Other is gone, that half of himself that had always tormented him is absent as well and never before has Spock felt as if he has more control over himself.

Spock is more Vulcan now than he has ever been and yet he can not help but feel as if he is less now than he was supposed to be. Less in someway than what he had always been before.

He forces himself to accept that, to accept the way he feels now _there is an almost bitter hollowness inside, a yawning chasm that begs to be filled_, as his new reality.

He is Vulcan and there can be nothing else for him.

No matter how desperately he wishes it could be so.

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><p>AN: So this is a little one-shot from Spock's p.o.v. concerning the connection between him and Jim. If there are any questions or if things are unclear please feel free to ask. I hope that you enjoyed this and I can not wait to see you all after the next chapter of Bedtime Stories!<p>

Translations:

_Nam-tor karik_: Be strong

_Nam-tor klon_: Be smart

_Rish-tor_: survive

_Dungau-sarlah nash-ven: I shall come._

_Nam-tor hayal_: Be calm


End file.
